by Jack Vance
Reith took Zap 210 to the inn. She sat on the couch in her cubicle, clutching the gray gown about herself, limp and miserable. Reith sat down beside her. “What happened?”
Tears dripped down her cheeks; she held her hands to her face. Reith stroked her head. Presently she wiped her eyes. “I don’t know what I did wrong—unless it was the sash. He made me drink wine until I became dizzy. He took me through the streets ... I felt very strange. I could hardly walk. In the house I wouldn’t take off my clothes and he became angry. Then he saw me and he became even angrier. He said I was unclean ... I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m sick, I’m dying.”
Reith said, “No, you’re not sick or dying. Your body has started to function normally. There’s nothing whatever wrong with you.”
“I’m not unclean?”
“Of course not.” Reith rose to his feet. “I’ll send in a maid to take care of you. Then just lie quietly and sleep until I return—I hope with enough money to put us aboard a ship.”
Zap 210 nodded listlessly; Reith departed the cubicle.
At the cafe Reith found Cauch and two young Zsafathrans who had come to Urmank aboard the second cart. “This is Schazar; this is Widisch,” said Cauch. “Both are reckoned competent; I have no doubt but that they will fulfill any reasonable requirements.”
“In that case,” said Reith, “let’s be off about our business. We haven’t too much time to spare, or so I should judge.”
The four sauntered off down the quay. Reith explained his theories: “—which now we must put to the test. Mind you, I may be wrong, in which case the project will fail.”
“No,” said Cauch. “You have employed an extraordinary mental process to adduce what I now see to be limpid truth.”
“The process is called logic,” said Reith. “It is not always dependable. But we shall see.”
They passed the eel-race table, where a few folk had already settled at the benches, ready for the day’s gambling. Reith hurried his steps: under the portal, through the dismal byways of Urmank Old Town, toward the shed under the psilla tree. They halted fifty yards away and took cover in a ruined hut at the edge of the wastelands.
Ten minutes passed. Reith began to fidget. “I can’t believe that we’ve come too late.”
The young man Schazar pointed across the wastes, to the far end of the wall. “Two men.”
The men strolled closer. One affected the flowing white robes and square white hat of an Erze Island Sage: “The eel-master,” muttered Cauch. The other, a young man, wore a pink skullcap and a light pink cape. The two walked casually and confidently along the trail and parted company near the shed. The eel-master continued toward the portal. Widisch said: “Easier merely to waylay the old charlatan and divest him of his pouch; the effect, after all, is the same.”
“Unfortunately,” said Cauch, “he carries no sequins on his person, and makes the fact well known. His funds are brought to the eel-races daily by four armed slaves under the supervision of his chief wife.”
The young man in pink strolled to the shed. He fitted a key in the lock, turned it three times, opened the ponderous door and entered the shed. He turned with surprise to find that Reith and Schazar had also pushed into the shed beside him. He attempted to bluster. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I will speak one time only,” said Reith. “We want your unstinting cooperation; otherwise we will hang you by the toes to yonder psilla. Is that clear?”
“I understand perfectly,” said the young man with a quaver.
“Describe the routine.”
The young man hesitated. Reith nodded to Schazar, who brought forth a coil of hard cord. The young man said quickly, “The routine is quite simple. I undress and step into the tank.” He indicated a cylindrical pool four feet in diameter at the back of the shed. “A tube communicates with the reservoir; the level in the tank and that in the reservoir are the same. I swim through the tube to the reservoir and come up into a space in the peripheral frame. As soon as the lid is lowered, I open a partition. I reach into the reservoir and move the specified eel to the edge of the chute.”
“And how is the color specified?”
“By the eel-master’s finger-taps on the top of the lid.”
Reith turned to Cauch. “Schazar and I are now in control. I suggest that you now take your places at the table.” He spoke to the young man in pink: “Is there sufficient space for two under the reservoir?”
“Yes,” said the young man grudgingly. “Just barely. But tell me: if I cooperate with you, how will I protect myself from the eel-master?”
“Be frank with him,” said Reith. “State that you value your life more than his sequins.”
“He will say that as far as he is concerned, affairs are reversed.”
“Too bad,” said Reith. “The hazard of your trade. How soon should we be in position?”
“Within a minute or so.”
Reith removed his outer garments. “If by some ineptness we are detected ... surely the consequences are as plain to you as to me.”
The apprentice merely grunted. He doffed his pink robe. “Follow me.” He stepped into the tank. “The way is dark but straight.”
Reith joined him in the tank. The young man drew a deep breath and submerged; Reith did the same. At the bottom, finding a horizontal tube about three feet in diameter, he pulled himself through, staying close behind the apprentice.
They surfaced in a space about four feet long, a foot and a half high, a foot wide. Light entered through artfully arranged crevices, which also allowed a view over the gaming tables; Reith thus could see that both Cauch and Widisch had found places along the counter.
From near at hand came the eel-master’s voice. “Welcome all to another day of exciting races. Who will win? Who will lose? No one knows. It may be me, it may be you. But we all will enjoy the fun of the races. For those who are new to our little game, you will notice that the board before you is marked with eleven colors. You may bet any amount on any of the colors. If your color wins, you are paid ten times the amount of your bet. Note these eels and their colors: white, gray, tawny, light blue, brown, dark red, vermilion, blue, green, violet, black. Are there any questions?”
“Yes,” called Cauch. “Is there any limit on the betting?”
“The case now being delivered contains ten thousand sequins. This is my limit; I pay no more. Please place your bets.”
With a practiced eye the eel-master appraised the table. He lifted the lid, set the eels into the center of the reservoir. “No more betting, please.” On the lid sounded tap—tap tap—tap.
“Two-two,” whispered the apprentice. “That’s green.” He pushed aside a panel and reaching into the reservoir, seized the green eel and set it into the mouth of the chute. Then he drew back and closed the panel.
“Green wins!” called the eel-master. “So then—I pay! Twenty sequins to this sturdy seafarer ... Make your bets, please.”
Tap tap-tap-tap sounded on the lid. “Vermilion,” whispered the apprentice. He performed as before.
“Vermilion wins!” called the eel-master.
Reith kept his eye to the crack. On each occasion Cauch and Widisch had risked a pair of sequins. On the third betting round each placed thirty sequins on white.
“Bets are now made,” came the eel-master’s voice. The lid came down. Tap tap came the sounds.
“Brown,” whispered the apprentice.
“White,” said Reith. “The white eel wins.”
The apprentice groaned in muted distress. He put the white eel into the chute.
“Another contest between these baffling little creatures,” came the complacent voice of the eel-master. “On this occasion the winning color is—brown ... Brown? White. Yes, white it is! Ha! In my old age I become color-blind. Tribulation for a poor old man! ... A pair of handsome winners here! Three hundred sequins for you, three hundred sequins for you ... Take your winnings, gentlemen. What? You are betting the entire sum, bot
h of you?”
“Yes, luck appears to be with us today.”
“Both on dark red?”
“Yes; notice the flight of yonder blood-birds! This is a portent.”
The eel-master smiled off into the sky. “Who can divine the ways of nature? I pray that you are incorrect. Well, then, all bets are made? Then in with the eels, down with the lid, and let the most determined eel issue forth the winner.” His hand rested a moment on the lid; his fingernail struck the surface a single time. “They twist, they search, the light beckons; we should soon have a winner ... Here comes—is it blue?” He gave an involuntary groan. “Dark red.” He peered into the faces of the Zsafathrans. “Your presages, astonishingly, were correct.”
“Yes,” said Cauch. “Did I not tell you as much? Pay over our winnings.”
Slowly the eel-master counted out three thousand-worth of sequins to each. “Astonishing.” He glanced thoughtfully toward the reservoir. “Do you observe any further portents?”
“Nothing significant. But I will bet nonetheless. A hundred sequins on black.”
“I bet the same,” declared Widisch.
The eel-master hesitated. He rubbed his chin, looked around the counter. “Extraordinary.” He put the eels into the reservoir. “Are all bets laid?” His hand rested on the lid; as if by nervous mannerism he brought his fingernails down in two sharp raps.
“Very well; I open the gate.” He pulled the lever and strode up to the end of the chute. “And here comes—what color? Black!”
“Excellent!” declared Cauch. “We reap a return after years of squandering money upon perverse eels! Pay over our gains, if you please!”
“Certainly,” croaked the eel-master. “But I can work no more. I suffer from an aching of the joints; the eel-racing is at an end.”
Reith and the apprentice immediately returned to the shed. The apprentice donned his pink cape and hat and took to his heels.
Reith and Schazar returned through the Old Town to the portal, where they encountered the eel-master, who strode past in a great flapping of his white gown. The normally benign face was mottled red; he carried a stout stave, which he swung in short ominous jerks.
Cauch and Widisch awaited them on the quay. Cauch handed Reith a pleasantly plump pouch. “Your share of the winnings: four thousand sequins. The day has been edifying.”
“We have done well,” said Reith. “Our association has been mutually helpful, which is a rare thing for Tschai!”
“For our part we return instantly to Zsafathra,” said Cauch. “What of you?”
“Urgent business calls me onward. Like yourselves, my companion and I depart as soon as possible.”
“In that case, farewell.” The three Zsafathrans went their way. Reith turned into the bazaar, where he made a variety of purchases. Back at the hotel he went to Zap 210’s cubicle and rapped on the door, his heart pounding with anticipation.
“Who is it?” came a soft voice.
“It is I, Adam Reith.”
“A moment.” The door opened. Zap 210 stood facing him, face flushed and drowsy. She wore the gray smock which she had only just pulled over her head.
Reith took his bundles to the couch. “This—and this—and this—and this—for you.”
“For me? What are they?”
“Look and see.”
With a diffident side-glance toward Reith, she opened the bundles, then for a period stood looking down at the articles they contained.
Reith asked uneasily, “Do you like them?”
She turned to him a hurt gaze. “Is this how you want me to be—like the others?”
Reith stood nonplussed. It was not the reaction he had expected. He said carefully, “We will be traveling. It is best that we go as inconspicuously as possible. Remember the Gzhindra? We must dress like the folk we travel among.”
“I see.”
“Which do you like best?”
Zap 210 lifted the dark green gown, laid it down, took up the blood-orange smock and dull white pantaloons, then the rather jaunty light brown suit with the black vest and short black cape. “I don’t know whether I like any of them.”
“Try one on.”
“Now?”
“Certainly!”
Zap 210 held up first one of the garments, then another. She looked at Reith; he grinned. “Very well, I’ll go.”
In his own cubicle he changed into the fresh garments he had bought for himself: gray breeches, a dark-blue jacket. The gray furze smock he decided to discard. As he threw it aside he felt the outline of the portfolio, which after a moment’s hesitation he transferred to the inner lining of his new jacket. Such a set of documents, if for no other reason, had value as a curio. He went to the common room. Presently Zap 210 appeared. She wore the dark green gown. “Why do you stare at me?” she asked.
Reith could not tell her the truth, that he was recalling the first time he had seen her: a neurasthenic waif shrouded in a black cloak, pallid and bone-thin. She retained something of her dreaming wistful look, but her pallor had become a smooth sunshadowed ivory; her black hair curled in ringlets over her forehead and ears.
“I was thinking,” said Reith, “that the gown suits you very well.”
She made a faint grimace: a twitch of the lips approaching a smile.
They walked out upon the quay, to the cog Nhiahar. They found the taciturn master in the saloon, working over his accounts. “You desire passage to Kazain? There is only the grand cabin to be had at seven hundred sequins, or I can give you two berths in the dormitory, at two hundred.”
CHAPTER NINE
A DEAD CALM held the Second Sea. The Nhiahar slid out of the inlet, propelled by its field engine; by degrees Urmank faded into the murk of distance.
The Nhiahar moved in silence except for the gurgle of water under the bow. The only other passengers were a pair of waxen-faced old women swathed in gray gauze who appeared briefly on deck, then crept to their dark little cabin.
Reith was well-satisfied with the grand cabin. It ranged the entire width of the ship, with three great windows overlooking the sea astern. In alcoves to port and starboard were well-cushioned beds as soft as any Reith had felt on Tschai, if a trifle musty. In the center stood a massive table of carved black wood, with a pair of equally massive chairs at either end. Zap 210 made a sulky appraisal of the room. Today she wore the dull white trousers with the orange blouse; she seemed keyed up and tense, and moved with nervous abruptness in jerks and halts and fidgeting twitches of the fingers.
Reith watched her covertly, trying to calculate the exact nature of her mood. She refused to look toward him or meet his gaze. At last he asked: “Do you like the ship?”
She gave a sullen shrug. “I have never seen anything like it before.” She went to the door, where she turned him a sour twitch of a smile—a derisive grimace—and went out on deck.
Reith looked up at the overhead, shrugged, and after a final glance around the room, followed her.
She had climbed the companionway to the quarterdeck, where she stood leaning on the taffrail, looking back the way they had come. Reith seated himself on a bench nearby and pretended to bask in the wan brown sunlight while he puzzled over her behavior. She was female and inherently irrational—but her conduct seemed to exceed this elemental fact. Certain of her attitudes had been formed in the Shelters, but these seemed to be waning; upon reaching the surface she had abandoned the old life and discarded its points of view, as an insect molts a skin. In the process, Reith ruminated, she had discarded her old personality, but had not yet discovered a new one ... The thought gave Reith a qualm. Part of the girl’s charm or fascination, or whatever it was, lay in her innocence, her transparency ... transparency?
Reith made a skeptical sound. Not altogether. He went to join her. “What are you pondering so deeply?”
She gave him a cool side-glance. “I was thinking of myself and the wide ghaun. I remember my time in the dark. I know now that below the world I was not yet born. All
those years, while I moved quietly below, the folk of the surface lived in color and change and air.”
“So this is why you’ve been acting so strangely!”
“No!” she cried in sudden passion. “It is not! The reason is you and your secrecy! You tell me nothing. I don’t know where we are going, or what you are going to do with me.”
Reith frowned down at the black boil of the wake. “I’m not sure of these things myself.”
“But you must know something!”
“Yes ... When I get to Sivishe I want to return to my home, which is far and remote.”
“And what of me?”
And what of Zap 210? wondered Reith. A question he had avoided asking himself. “I’m not sure you’d want to come with me,” he replied, somewhat lamely.
Tears glinted in her eyes. “Where else can I go? Should I become a drudge? Or a Gzhindra? Or wear an orange sash at Urmank? Or should I die?” She swung away and marched forward to the bow, past a group of the spade-faced seamen, who watched her from the side of their pale eyes.
Reith returned to the bench ... The afternoon passed. Black clouds to the north generated a cool wind. The sails were shaken out, and the cog drove forward. Zap 210 presently came aft with a strange expression on her face. She gave Reith a look of sad accusation and went down to the cabin.
